


five strokes above par

by fyborg23



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1425739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyborg23/pseuds/fyborg23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gally straightens up and watches Chuckie bend over, placing his ball just so on some imaginary tee. Tiger Woods, Chuckie isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	five strokes above par

**Author's Note:**

> Written to bust a block, and inspired by my [asking](http://prustytute.tumblr.com/post/79549927343/hastybooks-replied-to-your-post-the-gallys-going) prustytute which Gally would be more likely to bend a golf club over his knee.

 

Gally can't find his balls. No, really, he can't find his balls. You'd think that bright green would be hard to miss but apparently they don't stand out on this astroturf. He can even hear Chuckie snickering as Gally's bending over and trying to find those damn golf balls.

"Hurry up, Gally, wouldn't want to get sucked into a hole," Chuckie says. Gally rolls his eyes and straightens up.

"Fine, then give me one of yours," Gally mutters. Chuckie runs his tongue underneath his front teeth in a way that would've made Gally blush if he was still a dumb kid, and palms one of his blue balls into Gally's outstretched hand.

Chuckie leans on his club, says, "You're, what, five strokes above par? C'mon, before we all die of boredom."

Gally stares at Chuckie steadily, and Chuckie blinks and looks away with some pink high on his cheekbones. Gally hums and bends over to putt the ball just past the windmill's jerky arms and right next to the hole.

Shit.

Now Chuckie's going to say--

"Wow, stone hands."

Gally called it. Chuckie walks by him, brushing his hand just over the small of Gally's back. Gally straightens up and watches Chuckie bend over, placing his ball just so on some imaginary tee. Tiger Woods, Chuckie isn't.

Chuckie putts, and the ball slips past the windmill and plops into the hole after wobbling on the edge for ten painful seconds. Chuckie jumps, pumps his fist like he's doing a celly.

"You going to kiss your shirt too?" Gally mutters, and Chuckie looks him _right_ in the eyes as he pulls his shirt high enough to kiss. Gally can see Chuckie's abs, and the top of his underwear waistband.

Gally looks. He's not _dead_. Chuckie kisses his shirt and drops it back, shooting Gally a look that he probably thinks is seductive from under his eyelashes. Too bad Chuckie can't really smolder unlike _some_ people.

If the fucker wants to play for keeps, Gally can play for keeps. He walks over to the next hole, this one populated by plastic flamingos. In Canada. Gally's pretty sure flamingos like warmer weather, but he has a game to win. He looks at the lie of the green bristles on the ground. Considers.

He may stroke his club suggestively as he's thinking about what would take the least effort. Chuckie lays his hand over Gally's moving hands, and they both look at each other for a few beats.

Chuckie glares, Gally smirks. Nothing new.

"Like I said, Gally," Chuckie says, deadly slow, rubbing a thumb over Gally's knuckles and sliding it in between them, "Get moving." Gally looks at Chuckie's hand, then up at his best try at a stone face, and licks his lips.

He's not going to lose this round.

Gally swings, landing the ball just right next to a cluster of angry-looking birds, and hopes Chuckie has a worse time than Gally did.

Actually, why hope when you can do it?

Gally smirks to himself as he creeps up behind Chuckie, who's smirking too hard and looking at his own ball too hard to listen for Gally.

Chuckie has a nice ass, and Gally presses his dick against it, making the back of Chuckie's neck turn brick red. Chuckie just tightens his grip on his club. Gally breathes hard on the back of Chuckie's neck, tracing the flush with his fingers, and Chuckie _growls_ before he chips the ball hard.

The ball takes out a flamingo, and Gally leans back, pretending to look at the sky.

Chuckie narrows his eyes, "I hope you like losing, Gallagher."

Gally blows him a kiss, and he can see Chuckie grind his teeth. Gally hums to himself as he picks the ball through the flamingo legs and tantalizingly close to the hole.

Chuckie bites his lips and digs his own ball out of the small sand trap, not giving Gally any eye contact as he swings his hips through the follow-through. Chuckie's shirt is really a little too short on him, and Gally allows himself to think about pushing it up to his armpits as he rubs off on Chuckie's chest.

Chuckie jerks his eyes over the front of Gally's shorts, and he smirks as they watch Chuckie's ball knock Gally's ball out of position. It's Gally's turn to glare at Chuckie, and now he has to bend over to pick out a damn shot.

Gally doesn't moan when he feels Chuckie groping his ass and sliding the thin mesh of his shorts over his asshole, no matter what Chuckie may say. Gally has to remind himself not to lock his knees. Chuckie would be fingering him if Gally's shorts weren't in the way, and shit, he regrets picking today as the day to run out of underwear.

The noise Chuckie makes when he realizes that Gally isn't wearing underwear does absolutely nothing for his hard-on. Gally's more concerned about whether he can tuck his dick under the elastic waistband without being arrested for public indecency than he is about making the fucking putt.

Gally pushes back against Chuckie's fingers, trying to buy some time to just snap his waistband against his dick, but Chuckie just leans closer, nudging his club far too close to the super-obvious bulge in his shorts. Chuckie doesn't say anything, but Gally can feel him radiate smugness from _all over_.

Gally grinds his teeth and barely manages to sink the ball. The ball goes in, and Chuckie's still wrapped around his back. Chuckie's hand just slides into Gally's shorts enough to trap Gally's dick against the waistband, his foreskin rubbing just this side of uncomfortable against the crinkled elastic. The dirty fucker smears Gally's precome across his shorts, and Gally digs his teeth into his lip as he straightens up slowly. Gally would say thanks, but Chuckie's just too--

Evil.

Gally looks at Chuckie, who's shrugging his shoulders as he tries out swings, as if his tucking Gally's dick away didn't even happen. The corners of Chuckie's mouth are lifted up in a very restrained smirk, and Gally finds himself laying his hands on Chuckie's hips and tilting them.

"You kinda suck at swinging," Gally says, "No follow-through at all, you have to swing those hips. They don't lie."

Gally would kiss the base of Chuckie's neck, but Chuckie's just a little too tall in those fucking sneakers. Instead he slides his fingertips over the arches of Chuckie's hips, scraping his nails lightly over the thin skin. Chuckie makes a strangled noise and jerks away from Gally. Gally steps back with raised eyebrows, and watches Chuckie try to bend over with wood in his shorts.

Gally leans on his club, watching Chuckie glare his ball into the hole-- and fail. The ball falls short-- or actually falls long, but Gally knows he's winning _now_. Chuckie snarls something, probably in Russian, and definitely about Gally. Gally grins.

Chuckie has to putt again. Gally drinks in the clench in Chuckie's jaw, the heated look in his eyes, and the firm grip he has on the shaft of the club.

Chuckie overshoots, the ball skipping merrily over the hole and bumping against the low wall painted in a cheery shade of pink.

"God fucking damn it," Chuckie says, bending the club over his thigh and bashing the mangled club against the astroturf. Gally's losing it now, laughter making him shake. Chuckie's eyes are scrunched up like an angry kitten's, and the effect just makes Gally laugh harder.

Chuckie grips Gally's arms, "This is _your_ fault."

Gally looks up, licks his lips, says, "Yeah? I'm not the one who forfeited." Chuckie blinks, looks at his bent golf club, and swears softly.

Gally pries Chuckie's hands off him, says, "Why don't you explain... _this_ to the nice equipment people, and I'd... be in the car?"

Gally makes sure to wiggle his butt as he walks away from Chuckie.

Gally slides in the front seat of Chuckie's penis-compensating vehicle, playing with the keys in his hands and letting the sun bake him slowly until he sees Chuckie scurry out with an abashed look on his face. Chuckie pulls open the car door, and says, "I had to autograph every fucking thing in that place. You owe me."

"I'm not the one who decided to bend a club over my thigh," Gally chirps, free and easy like the breeze that's blowing into the car.

Chuckie presses Gally against the back of the seat, says with as much threat as he can muster, "I _can_ bend you over."

Gally looks Chuckie up and down. Chuckie's filled out a little, sure, but they both know who's going to give it up. It's not Gally. Chuckie leans down a little, slides the seat all the way back and clambers in, squashing Gally against the leather. Chuckie slams the door closed behind him and leans heavily against the front of Gally's shorts.

Chuckie's eyes drop down to Gally's lips, his own mouth slightly open. Gally pulls Chuckie in by his neck and kisses him, leaning him back against the steering wheel. Chuckie gives into Gally's mouth, dragging his lips over Gally's teeth. Gally fists his hands in Chuckie's shirt, slides his tongue into Chuckie's sweet mouth just as--

_HONNNNK HONNNNK HONNNK_

They both startle, Chuckie pushing Gally against the ceiling as he fumbles away from the horn. Gally slinks to the cavernous back seat, trying to recover whatever action he had going on. His pulse's pounding in his ears, and Chuckie shoots him a sheepish grin.

"Ok, that was my fault," allows Gally, muttering to his shirt. Chuckie rolls his eyes and yanks Gally's shirt off. Gally licks his lips and Chuckie squeezes Gally's jaw.

"You've been licking your mouth the whole fucking time we've been here," mutters Chuckie, rubbing his hand right where Gally's shorts are trapping his dick. Gally doesn't blush, not even when Chuckie adds, "Just you know, I'm going to make you pay."

Gally looks Chuckie up and down-- well as much as he can in this damn car-- and licks his lips again. Chuckie makes an annoyed noise and rakes his hands through Gally's hair, his eyes clearly saying _get the fuck on with it, you tease_. Gally's not kind, forcing down Chuckie's shorts and mouthing the wet spot on his boxers.

Chuckie groans, pushing Gally's head down against his hard-on. Gally shoves his hand up one of the legs of Chuckie's boxers, teasing at his balls, making Chuckie thrash just a little. Gally tries to scoot down but he bumps into the door handle and barks his shin on it. He grimaces into Chuckie's thigh, and Chuckie says something about Gally not moving so damn much.

Gally slides his hand up higher, stroking the base of Chuckie's dick and mouthing the head through the thin cotton of his boxers. Chuckie's a hum of tautness underneath Gally, and Gally jabs his tongue right on Chuckie's dick hole.

Chuckie pulls at Gally's hair, snarls, " _Tease_ ", and Gally looks up at Chuckie, rubs his asshole dry and rough. Chuckie bites his lip and thunks his head against the window, and Gally pushes down his boxers to actually suck him off. Gally swallows easily around Chuckie's dick, pins him down with a firm forearm so that he doesn't try to fuck Gally's mouth.

Gally leans in, sucks hard, and Chuckie comes with a strangled moan and the _squeeeek_ of his sweaty hands against the windows. Gally feels a little mean, licks up the come around Chuckie's dick just to feel his legs melt against the leather seats.

When Gally pulls back, Chuckie's mouth is slack and almost red from all the biting he did to it, trying not to shout. Gally smirks to himself and drags his lips over Chuckie's oversensitive mouth.

Chuckie pushes back against him, trying to work up a glare but he's still too come-dumb. Gally leans back agains the opposite door, and Chuckie mutters, "Insolent."

Gally raises his eyebrows, says, "Made you come, didn't I?" He drags his pointer finger across his lower lip, fake-wonders, "Now, who was winning when you got so fucking pissed?"

Chuckie's face is still pink from coming, but he manages to add to the flush he has. Chuckie flattens Gally against the door, making the handle dig a little too close to Gally's kidney, and says, "I hate you."

Gally folds an arm behind his head and makes Chuckie scoot down with his free hand. Chuckie's uncomfortable, wedged in awkwardly between the floor and the seat, and Gally grins. Being allegedly 5'9 does have advantages.

Chuckie looks up, and snaps the elastic waistband of Gally's shorts against him. Gally flinches, and he pulls at Chuckie's hair to no effect. Chuckie's too busy smirking. Gally doesn't grit his teeth, but he does slide his dick on Chuckie's cheek _insistently_.

Chuckie grips Gally's dick, pressing it down against his abs, and he lays the flat of his tongue against the head. Gally wants to yell but that would be losing and he wants to win--

He also wants Chuckie to suck him off, damnit. Chuckie's slow, and sloppy as hell, leaving a wet spot on Gally's shorts, and Gally squirms at the thought at having to go home like _this_. Chuckie runs a hand under Gally's shirt, rakes a nail over one of his nipples and rubs it. Gally presses against his hand, feeling himself sweat a little between the overwarm car and Chuckie winding him up, but he can keep his mouth shut--

Chuckie licks hard, sucking right between Gally's dick and balls, and Gally pushes back into Chuckie's mouth. His own breathing sounds harsh, and Gally just wants Chuckie to slide his mouth deeper, make him close those eyes, hollow those dumb cheeks. Gally digs his nails into his palms when Chuckie finally slides his lips around his cock, sucking painfully lightly on it.

Chuckie presses his tongue in slow circles on Gally's dick, one of his cheeks slightly pulled out of true with his dick. Gally scrubs a hand through his hair, resists the urge to fuck Chuckie's mouth, and Chuckie fucking _hums_. Chuckie presses his hot hands on Gally's thighs, digging his fingertips into the pale skin there. Gally tosses back his head, the back of his skull glancing against the glass and Gally's too fucking into Chuckie sucking him off to even care.

Chuckie tightens his lips around Gally, and presses his fingers right into the tendons in Gally's thighs, and Gally thrusts up into his mouth as he comes. Gally trails his fingers across Chuckie's hair, pressing slowly into his mouth as Chuckie licks him-- not clean, but, yeah. Chuckie pulls off, scrapes his teeth over one of the red ovals on Gally's thighs and looks up at him.

Gally licks his lips. _Slowly_.

Maybe they can call it a draw.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://www.hastybooks.tumblr.com)!


End file.
